Damnation
by FaTcAtInAhAt
Summary: Tom Riddle had not been prepared for the welcoming smile and open heart that walked into his life that day. She had never been part of his plan. Can one person change time itself, or has it already been set in stone?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** I have been working on ideas for this story in between finishing Buried Myself Alive. Only 1200 words for this prelude, but I wanted to see if anyone would like to help me out. My mind is so clustered with thought, I cannot seem to organize this story and have never written Tom Riddle or Voldemort in much detail. If you wanna help me (please, please, pleases), let me know in a review.

**Damnation**

Somewhere in Scotland, in a time not too far from this one, but in a location you would not be able to find on a majority of maps, smoke was rising between the mountains. As if someone were lighting fireworks that weren't traveling very high, multi-coloured flashes of light gave the eerie smoke a constant rainbow of illumination.

Minerva McGonagall sat behind the desk she only briefly occupied during her time as Headmistress. There was a battle going on, the war was at it's climax; students were dying!

Yet, here she was, inevitably following orders from a portrait. It was highly unlikely anyone in the Wizarding world would take heed from a portrait, but this was no Sir Cadogan, the enchanted portrait who had requested her presence was of Albus Dumbledore.

Long before his death, long before the start of the Second War, even before James and Lily Potter had conceived the baby who would become the Boy-Who-Lived, Albus had asked one thing of her. It was of grave importance, she remembered. They had convened for a private meeting underneath the heaviest security their magic could ensure in the most remotest of places. Hell, she didn't even know what Continent they had traveled to for that long ago conversation.

When young Harry had last ran past her, had told her the message Albus wished her to receive, it was time.

Of course, finding the bloody thing was the hard part. Severus Snape had been sure to clear everything belonging and related to Dumbledore's life. Albus was absolutely certain it had not been removed from where he had placed it, however, and the tiny drawer which most would dismiss as only a supply one for extra quills and ink pots had revealed several decades of paperwork Albus had stashed away, books that had been out of date for years, broken trinkets and unused or forgotten presents.

As the stern woman gave out a groan of frustration, the painting on the wall merely laughed, his characteristic blue eyes twinkling. "Minerva, I promise it is in there," he reassured her. "I just had to be sure it would not end up in the wrong hands."

"I don't understand why I couldn't have been given it for safe-keeping," she snapped back, pulling out a few bags of expired candies and throwing them into the growing pile.

"You will _understand_, darling, when you have it within your grasp."

She rolled her eyes and continued her search.

xxx

Down below the tower, cries of battle were barely audible over the thunderous sound of spells colliding with each other and the stone walls of the old castle. All noise was silenced, however, as an amplified voice was carried across the grounds.

"You have all fought valiantly. My Death Eaters will have removed themselves from your presence by now. Harry Potter, collect those who have died in vain. Have an hour of reprieve. Mourn your loses and prepare for your deaths."

True to Voldemort's word, his followers had suddenly vanished and all who were left standing around them were their allies. Each was covered in dirt and sweat, blood from themselves and loved ones.

"I'm going into the Forest," Harry announced to his two best friends, a steely determination in his emerald eyes. Too many had fallen. The three of them were still reeling from the death of Fred. Ron had been fighting with tears stinging his eyes, barely making it out of duels unscathed.

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No, Harry, not yet, please," she begged of him, her own tears threatening to spill over.

Almost as suddenly as before, a cold voice boomed over the grounds. "Yes, Harry Potter, not yet, please!" mocked Lord Voldemort.

The trio immediately took a circular stance, backs together so that no one could be hit from behind, wands at the ready and eyes more open than ever. Hermione could not keep herself from trembling from fear. They were still children! It would be entirely too unfair for the Dark Lord himself to approach the three of them. Not yet. They needed more time.

BOOM!

Without warning, the wall and doorway closest to her gave way and, even with a shielding charm, she saw the stones and other debris hurtling towards them at an alarming rate. In her last moments, Hermione Granger had always wished to remember the happiest moments of her short life. All she could see however, was a cloaked sillouette slowly stepping - no, _floating_- between the broken wall and confidently making his way toward her.

Lord Voldemort's movements were careful and slow. Deliberate. The red, snake-like slits glowing ominously as her mind scrolled through it's many defensive options. Once again she begged fate for more time.

_Time_. It had stopped in that very moment. Frozen. From the corner of her eyes, Hermione could see that both Harry and Ron were unmoving.

_So this is how it ends,_ she thought ruefully. _The lowly Mudblood, taken down by Tom Riddle himself._

"Now, now, Hermione," his voice, no longer loud nor cold, rang out to her almost silently. In fact, if she had not seen his lips moving, it would have been impossible to know the monster in front of her had spoken. Her name.

Almost an eternity later his movements stopped directly in front of her. The heat emitted from his towering form enough to make her falter back when his free hand reached out as if to touch her.

"It seems you are not pleased with my current appearance," stated Lord Voldemort, his gaze and voice both emotionless. Blank. "I have to admit, time has been cruel to Tom Riddle."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. A voice in her head urged her not to play this silly game, but her mouth beat the logic coursing through her mind. "What are you playing at, _Voldemort_?" asked Hermione, speaking his self chosen name with venom. Flinching at her own words, she prepared herself for the inevitable death she had just signed the certificate for, closing her eyes briefly and taking in a deep breath.

Seconds later, with no response and no sound of movement, she opened them once more to find that Lord Voldemort was gazing at her unsurely, as if unable to decide what exactly to do with Potter's Mudblood sidekick.

"Stop it, Hermione," he pleaded, and Hermione couldn't help but feel as if an alternate universe had crash landed right into her. "The blood in your veins is of no concern to me."

The brunette cocked her head, contemplating the man in front of her. Realization struck her, startling like a ruler colliding with her bare knuckles. "It... It worked, didn't it?" she asked carefully, trying not to step over the boundaries which had been laid down in front of her.

A reminiscent smirk, one she barely recognized from the memories divulged to her earlier in the night, lit up his face. "You are so different from what I remember," was his reply. "Then again, fifty years later, some memories may not be meant to last."

In a blur of fabric and with a twist on her insides, Hermione Granger collapsed onto the ground shimmering translucent blue and writhing in pain.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.******

**Author's Note:**This story is shaping up well. Sorry it has taken me so long to post chapter one, but I wanted everything sorted before I dived into it fully. Enjoy, tell me what you think, and there will be more soon, I promise.****

**Damnation**

**Chapter One**

_September 1st, 1944_

The day broke over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as normally as it could within a magic filled boarding school. Minerva McGonagall wiped her eyes and stretched, reveling in the feel of her well deserved Head Girl bed. Though she had spent the past few days of retreat in proximity to a certain unpleasant Slytherin, Minerva knew she would finally be able to regain normalcy by the Opening Feast later that evening, and could therefore stand his presence only a few hours more.

She stood, smiling at her ever-warm floor. If there was something she hated more than the Head Boy, it was a cold stone floor. Just another reason being Head Girl would be even more enjoyable. This was the last morning she would have time to take a full bath before class, and she sure as Hell would be making use of it.

After her normal routine of bathing, brushing her teeth, and gathering any supplies she may need throughout the day in her book-bag, Minerva set off down the stairs, quickly finding herself in the Gryffindor common room, and smiled. The past six years had been hard work, but obviously well-worth the effort. She had studied endlessly, spent countless hours in the library, never once letting her goal vanish from sight.

This year would be different, though, she promised herself. After the events of her previous year, a quiet, simple term would be just fine, thank you very much. It was hardly a bonus that for once the high and mighty Head Boy seemed to be lacking without the presence of his other half. Some days, Minerva had wondered if the girl attached to his hip even did anything other than trail after Tom Riddle.

She nodded to several portraits as she reached the stairs, laughing inwardly at the thought. She knew full well the brunette lived an active life. In fact, she missed the intelligent witch who had overlooked set prejudices between the houses and befriended Minerva as well. Though, they were not on the best of terms currently, she had been hoping to rectify it during the Heads retreat. Asking Riddle about her, however, seemed to have been a mistake. For a moment, he seemed to visibly share her worry when she admitted not one letter had been replied to.

It had been a passing look in his eyes, eyes she had never seen show any emotion. Admittedly, he did seem to get excited when they learned new things in class, but that had been years ago, for the past year it seemed like he had become bored with their coursework, seemingly not needing to study in order to get some class grades higher than hers.

It frustrated her to no end, but also knew that, for some, certain types of magic came naturally.

Just as she started descending the Grand Staircase, she felt a rumbling beneath her feet and could see the portraits start to panic. Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes as she hit the bottom of the stairs, a blue spattering of light slowly forming together and she only just covered her ears as a thunderous clap echoed throughout the school and its grounds.

Pointing her wand at the heap of clothes now at her feet, Minerva poked it with the toe of her shoe.

"Bloody hell, can you not do that?" came an aggravated voice from beneath the cloak and bag before a head popped out, revealing the pain-etched face of Hermione Granger.

"There you are," boomed a voice from behind, making Minerva once again roll her eyes. This would of course be the time Tom Riddle would sulk up from the dungeons, not even allowing her a moment's time with the newly arrived witch.

After helping Hermione to her feet, Minerva gave her a quick hug, before whispering in her ear, "Library after?" Hermione responded with only a glance and a smile, but it was enough for Minerva and, after a quick glare in the direction of the Head Boy, she made her departure to the Great Hall. Some things, she felt, could never be understood. Love, she _knew_, was one of them.

Though, knowing that would not ever stop her from berating the younger witch for her choice.

Tom Riddle had not become Head Boy by mere trial and error or that whole nonsense of learning from one's mistakes. Simply put, he did not make mistakes. It was a well known, and proudly held, fact of nature.

But as he finally approached the witch, whose arrival he had been anticipating greatly, he was unsure how to greet her, and there would be no lesson learned if this one important moment were to be ruined by his lack of experience with females. One part of his mind argued that the terms she had left upon were unsure, therefore their greeting could also be unsure.

However, the other part was just absolutely overwhelmed at the prospect this greeting held. Before his thoughts could be organized, a mess of robes and curly hair flew in his direction and latch itself around his neck. Momentarily, he was lost.

Soon, the gesture was recognized and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the one smell he had missed all summer long. The orphanage was certainly not a place for pleasant smells.

"I missed you so," she breathed into the crook of his neck, making the corners of his mouth turn up in a nearly forgotten gesture.

He rubbed his cheek on the side of her head, still unsure of his desired actions. Bloody hell, this was his closest friend, did he really want to ruin it with some silly urge?

As usual, his mind was made up for him as Hermione drew back, looking up into his eyes with tears brimming in her eyes but a smile still held warmly. "Tom," she spoke quietly, before stretching up on her toes and joining their lips in a simple, joyous, and long missed embrace. If possible, he found himself holding her tighter, letting go and feeling warmth spread all the way through his body, down to his bones, blood and the very fibers they were made from.

Moments later, they broke apart, Hermione resting her forehead on his chest. "I've figured it all out," she told him. "I know how to fully perform the spell, and what must be done next."

Tom gently pried her from him to look into her eyes, fearing she might be pulling his leg.

"I wouldn't," was her response, seemingly reading his mind.

"Well, then?" he asked impatiently, making her laugh.

"Always business with you," said Hermione, shaking her head with mirth. "Can we discuss this after breakfast? I haven't eaten in ages."

"I almost got stuck in that damned century," Hermione was telling Tom Riddle. They sat together in the library, far from prying eyes who hadn't even arrived yet. It was simply routine. "But I did find trace of the gauntlet."

At this, a smile crossed his features. A year ago, Hermione could never expect to see more than a smirk or sneer; he was at ease around her. It was not much, since he was still doing everything else on schedule. Maybe a few days had changed, a few dates happening a few days before or after her memory knew, from future books and lessons with Dumbledore.

However, things would be different in the coming six months. It would be the last of her preparations. Always, in the back of her mind, one saying stuck with her, _"if at first you don't succeed,"_

"Try and try again," Tom finished for her, a note of seriousness in his tone. "What have you done, Hermione?" he asked. "And I am not talking of your mishaps and forays into the wrong times and places. You would not have returned until you completed the task you so adamantly set out to complete this summer."

Sighing, she crossed her legs, wondering what she could and could not say. One thing was certain, the full truth was far from being an option. He did know of her time travel, knew of a great war in the future, that he was the key to preventing it. However, he was not aware that it was, in fact, he who the world needed to be saved from.

"The gauntlet _was_ my task, Riddle," she responded with a sneer. Surprisingly, she had learned that mannerism from Abraxas Malfoy, not Tom Riddle. Abraxas had a haughty, know-it-all sneer, which fit better for Hermione than Tom Riddle's malicious, vindictive ones. It was strange how one year could cause her to adapt. "I told you long ago that we must take steps to achieve what you are seeking."

He shook his head. "You did not say it would take this long."

"And it will take even longer. Though I may have the power of time in my hands, there is more at work against me, and you, than just time itself," momentarily, she paused, taking a breath and gathering her thoughts. "I had some unfortunate run-ins, which led me to witness terrible moments past and future. I'd rather look ahead to change what we can, here."

"What about my mother, Granger?" he asked with a hiss.

Once more, she sighed, before standing up and holding her hand out to Tom. He eyed it questioningly, but seemed to trust her request and found himself standing with Hermione Granger flush against his chest, her arms encircling him like they had upon her arrival. This time it was not rushed, however. It was certain and warmth spread throughout his body and he wrapped himself around her in response.

"I have seen the horrors of your mother's life," she whispered softly. "I found myself in a duel with a much younger Marvolo once, and was also chased by a very small and young Morfin who had curiosity in regards to what lay beneath my skirt."

Tom let go quickly, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders as a dangerous glint flashed through his eyes. "Tell me what that bastard did," he demanded, eyes piercing and serious.

She only shook her head. "You know I mustn't, Tom," replied Hermione, simply, stepping backwards and out of his reach. Surprisingly, there was no momentary struggle. It seemed Tom Riddle learned some patience and control. "I will say I have another foray planned, involving the Gaunts, your mother. Hopefully, I will find a way to her without also stumbling upon your dear uncle and grandfather."

xXxXxXxXxXx

Hermione's mind was still adjusting to the time period she returned to. In the past year and handful of weeks, this had been the only constant, the only place she found herself staying in for days at a time.

The way to the library was still an unconscious effort, regardless of her starting location. Just ten minutes before, as she had been settling into her dormitory, an owl had found her with a letter from Minerva, asking to meet at 4 so they could catch up. She frowned, thinking of the scattered letters she'd received. It had been hard finding a way to transfer them through time at all, but in the correct order was damn near impossible.

At night, she had dreams of actions she had yet to make, but they had been proven predictive, and that had scared Hermione. Worried that her effort would be fruitless, that the same terrible war would occur, that her presence merely changed a few dates; that time had already been set in stone.

The greatest sacrifice she could give, her only help for Harry, and all her friends from her time, would not be saved from the terrors they had seen. It was hard to know whether it had done better or worse for her time, and she was bloody scared to find out until she had done everything.

Right now, she needed to focus though. On the present she was in now, the things she had to continue later could wait until then, when that was her present. Trailing from the Ravenclaw tower to the library seemed worse than the trek from Gryffindor she could remember. Sighing, and with lingering shadows resembling Harry and Ron looming in her mind, she quickened her pace until she pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Breathing in the scent of old books and parchment, a small smile formed on her lips. Memories, mainly good, flooded her vision, and she could vaguely see herself reading in several corners, different ages and apparel. It was a strange side effect of repeated time travel. Hopefully, she mused, after settling back home, in her time, the visions would fade and her memory would gather in proper order.

Minerva was sitting with her back towards Hermione at their usual table. It was at the cross section of three categories: Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. All three them branched out into the other various sections of books, but these three were used most by the two witches. One studying time travel mechanics, the other studying the concepts of space and matter.

From the beginning, a bond had been formed with the young woman who would grow to be her Transfiguration professor and role model. The conversations they had, and the contributions they gave to one another regarding theory and practice had been a nice change of pace. Six years with two slackers had made Hermione used to a lack of intellectual debate. Here, she found it first in the form of Minerva, and second in Tom Riddle himself.

Shaking this reminiscing off, she pulled out the chair opposite the Scot and took her seat. After a moment, Minerva placed a bookmark in between the pages and placed her closed book on the table, fixing her eyes on Hermione. "How was your holiday?" she asked indifferently, her tone almost bored.

Hermione rolled her eyes at this coldness. She had come to expect it, with how the previous year ended and the goodbye she'd given Hogwarts. "It was… interesting," she replied, taking Minerva's book into her hands and glancing over the cover. "I'm not sure ho—"

"I can't believe you just LEFT like that," the woman across from her suddenly snapped. "Gods, I knew it was not going to be a quick 'pop' and done, but I was certain it had not worked! It seemed as if every speck of you exploded!"

"Technically, that's what happens," said Hermione coolly. Minerva knew the truth, it would only be right to give her some details regarding her missions. She had also been the one to help Hermione decode the spell Voldemort had used on her. The nights spent staring into the Pensieve were not forgotten, but she could see the worry Minerva was trying hard to suppress with her anger. Hermione put down the book and looked up, making eye contact before speaking. "It is the most painful experience of my life, and that's saying something. Once I was tortured by Bel- I mean a Death-" She shook her head momentarily, trying to find a new subject. The sting of Bellatrix's blade had not worn off, and neither had the scar. "I did what I set out to this summer, and can only hope my actions prove to be for the best."

Minerva nodded, the anger no longer present in her eyes. "How is it you keep this all together, Hermione? One woman cannot do all that has been asked of you."

Over Minerva's shoulder, Hermione could swear she had spotted herself, not a glimmering ghost, but a whole bodied human, dart between shelves. "By remembering who this is for, and what must be done."

The vision of herself left view, but all she could see was the disheveled state of dress and matted hair, and hoped desperately it was not a terrible sign of things to come.


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's** Note: Many thanks to bunnyhops of Granger Enchanted, my new beta. She did a brilliant job. Thank her, and check out her stories on GE!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Damnation**

**Chapter Two**

_May 2__nd__, 1945_

Minerva McGonagall woke up with the false presumption that today was just a normal day.

She might have noticed had she been looking, that today she had risen early enough to shower before breakfast, which was probably the first sign of unusual occurrences. The past few weeks, the professors had been tripling the seventh year students' workload, and last night had been the end of a strenuous homework and study schedule she had forced upon herself.

Most days, time would only allow her a simple Cleansing Charm.

As she pulled her school robe on, a small, content sigh left her lips. _It's almost over_, she thought with glee, pinning her damp hair into a tight bun. Seven years of hard work, and all that was left to complete was her NEWTs, which would start with Potions the following Monday morning.

She had already made her study sheets to review before each individual exam. Hopeful, she grabbed her schoolbag full of completed homework, closed the door behind herself, and without a second thought walked down the stairs and through the common room.

Several people waved as she made her way to the Great Hall, a first year, whose name she couldn't recall, but who wore the crest of Slytherin, asked if she knew where the always elusive Head Boy was located. She shrugged, telling him a bit too firmly that she was not and never would be Tom Riddle's babysitter before walking away and not letting the thought of Mr. Perfect ruin this beautiful day for her.

Just as she was turning the corner to the Entrance Hall, the stone walls surrounding her trembled slightly, then gradually increased with intensity. Frozen in her place, Minerva contemplated possible options and outcomes. It was either an earthquake, which was highly unlikely due to the magic which created Hogwarts, or an attack on the wards protecting the school from outside forces.

There was also a distinct possibility that a certain someone was about to make a rather ungraceful entrance back into her life.

Just before the sound reached its apex, and with her wand in hand, the brunette broke into a sprint, heading for the Great Hall to help any and all students as was her duty. She passed students of all ages, their faces full of confusion and fright, and waved for them to follow.

Less than 10 yards from the imposing doors of the Great Hall, a bolt of lightning, blinding and beautiful, struck the ground beside her, the force and voltage scorching the ends of her clothes and bag while propelling her into a wall immediately to her left. A deafening crack was simultaneous as the blue embers and still visible sparks soared together, compressed into a dark silhouette, and popped one last time before the now defined and whole person promptly collapsed into a heap of robes.

Minerva braced herself against the wall, her mind trying to process the events which had just occurred, yet _again_, realizing not only had someone just appeared out of nowhere inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but this action had also caused her precious homework and books to be rendered useless. Halfway between anger and shock, a loose wand suddenly rolled to a stop at her feet, the tip glowing still and emitting waves of heat even her leather shoes could not protect her toes from.

Her eyes shifted between the group of students, the heap lying between the growing semi-circle, and the wand on the floor. Decision made, she cast the wand into temporary oblivion with a simple bit of altered Transfiguration, told the nearest Prefect to find both Headmaster Dippet and Professor Dumbledore, and proceeded to kick the unconscious witch in the shin.

When that did nothing, she cast a simple 'Ennerverate' and watched the brunette stir. Once the witch had sat up and smiled bleary-eyed, Minerva couldn't very well take it anymore, seeing as her normal morning had not only been interrupted by thought of Tom Riddle, but she now had another miscreant to attend to. Again.

Already red in the face, with a hex on the tip of her tongue, she mumbled incoherently for a moment then shouted, "Where the bloody hell have you been, Granger?"

xXxXxXx

Hermione had been briefed by Albus Dumbledore more than a few times. Over the course of six months, she had made notes she remembered word for word, heard things from the man she could still hear perfectly, and shown memories which became burned into her memory.

"_Only if all is lost," he told her. "Only then must you avoid repeating your actions. If Harry, before your departure, is not going to succeed, or if he has already perished, Merlin forbid, you must do all within your power to change this. One action, Miss Granger, and the world may never see Lord Voldemort as we have experienced him."_

All of it, she had taken in, reviewed, and was certain that, if at least her arrival was correctly timed, she would now be in Dumbledore's office next to his Transfiguration classroom.

Lord Voldemort was not a stupid man, she realized, because he had connected the dots. Dumbledore and Minerva had both been certain that any memories of his last two years attending Hogwarts were consumed with his exponentially growing powers and not the brown-haired bookworm with whom he had chosen to study. It seemed such a trivial fact for one to remember while taking over an entire civilization.

The look he had given her, as the light consumed her and just before her body burst into mere atoms, told her all she needed. He sent her where she would interfere the least. And here she was.

"Miss Granger, I hope you understand our concern, you have been missing for a few weeks," a younger, auburn-haired Dumbledore was saying. However, she could not respond, did not know where to begin. "When did you end up after you left? You look battle-worn."

Her gaze lifted from the floor and into his bright blue eyes. "Did you say—"

"When?" he offered with a smile.

Nodding, she stood and handed Dumbledore the packet, hoping he could restore her sanity, help her find a jumping point. He reached out, eyes widening when he saw his own script, and opened the over-stuffed envelope Hermione had so desperately clung to during her travel.

xXxXx

_Several hours later..._

Hermione lay awake upon what was told to be her bed in the Slytherin dormitory. Dumbledore had decided, with great finality in his voice, that to complete her mission, it was time to go about as she had before. Which, of course, gave Hermione no hope of knowing what was to come, because that had not been her, yet at least, who had joined Slytherin house at the beginning of her sixth year.

Turning over and fluffing her pillow, she groaned. From here on out, her actions and words were uncharted territories. Is this how Harry felt the moment before he made his decisions only hours ago?

_Merlin_, it hadn't even happened yet. Abruptly, she sat up, threw the blanket to the side, and made her way into the common room quickly, knowing, for whatever reason, that the man of her thoughts would be there.

Tom Riddle, dark-haired and handsome, sat on and armchair close to the fire, head hung limply backwards, mouth agape. Hermione stopped quickly. She could end this now, it was her choice, it was what Harry and Ron expected, one swish of the wand and the future, as it was, could just have been a nightmare. Harry would still have his parents, the Weasley's would have Fred, Tonks and Lupin could raise Teddy themselves.

Deliberately and slowly, wand in hand, she approached the young man, who was somehow sleeping soundly. It didn't take long before she stood before him, wand aimed at his heart and the words on her tongue, when he awoke. At first he was startled, seeing the wand a foot from his chest. But the moment their eyes made contact, a smile broke out on his face and Tom Riddle was out of his chair, holding her in a tight embrace with his head buried in her hair.

"You left without saying goodbye," he whispered. "I never thought I'd see you again."

All the while, Hermione's mind went from furious to excited, and made an emergency stop at shocked. This was not something she remembered from the Pensieve. This was not supposed to happen.

He pulled back, looking at her face, still smiling broadly. "Cat got your tongue?"

She opened her mouth, but immediately remembered there were no discernable thoughts or replies in her mind. All she could see was his dark blue eyes and the compassion she could feel radiating towards her. This could not, was not, and never would be Tom Riddle. It had to be one of the others she had befriended. It had been _her_memories, after all, that she viewed.

All the facts, however, told her this was indeed Tom Riddle. There was no voice that smooth, no one in Hogwarts at this time who looked so alike with him.

Tom's brow furrowed, taking in the scratches on her face, the limp look of her hair, the feeble way she held herself. "Who did this to you?" His voice was spoken with a venom that Hermione knew only he could produce. Still, she looked at him white-faced and with a blank stare.

_ "The future is, quite literally, in your hands, Miss Granger," Dumbledore had said previously that evening. "Follow your instinct, but act your part. It seems someone else is trying to twist this time as well, and it would be wise for you to achieve what you can, as soon as the opportunity arrives."_

"Hermione?"

She looked up, still shocked. Tom Riddle's eyes were glossed over, taking in all her features before he locked eyes with her. Quickly, she put up barriers, knowing he had already become very accomplished at Legilimancy. This made him frown. "Why are you blocking me, Hermione?"

In that instant, Hermione Granger made a very brash decision. It would do no good to lie to Tom Riddle, especially if he already knew her. It could change everything, that's why she was here, after all. Lord Voldemort may have sent her where he felt her to be the smallest threat to his future. Sure, it would go against everything Dumbledore had told her, would go against all her preparations, all their research. But now, there were two playing this game, and Hermione would be damned to let Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort best her.

She shook her head and took several steps backward. "We have never met before," she said, finally. Tom's frown only deepened. "I only just arrived this morning before breakfast."

His eyes flashed crimson momentarily, a scowl replacing his previously held frown. "We met last year, Hermione, on the first day of our sixth year."

"If we had then why am I standing here saying I don't recall ever being here before?" Hermione became irritated quickly. After uncountable hours in battle and traveling fifty years in the past to spend a day being interrogated, it was no surprise she was tired.

Tired, sore, hungry, aching.

Taking a new approach to this encounter, she strolled past him and took his chair, all the while, Tom Riddle not speaking one word, merely moving his body to better see her.

She leaned back, stowing away her wand while the other hand clutched her head. After a few silent moments, she straightened up, finding Tom Riddle kneeling in front of her, a lost look on his face. Hair only slightly mussed from his earlier nap, the fire reflected in his eyes, Hermione only wondered where she had gone wrong before. Maybe further precautions should have been taken.

What if this was a mistake? What if she could have changed all this by not traveling to this time?

Tom Riddle reached out one elegant, long fingered hand, placing it gently on hers. "This is going to sound awfully strange," he spoke quietly. "But I have known you nearly two years now, and I've grown quite close and fond of you. I am not one for such sentiments, but if there is anything you need to discuss, I still remember everything you told me."

She gave him a sharp look. How much had she told him?

"Everything," he answered her unspoken question. She averted her eyes from his, cursing inward for letting her mind wander so. He chuckled. "The question was written all over your face. I know you far better than you seem to know me." Face serious, eyes narrowing slightly, and his hand grasping hers that lay beneath his, he spoke in a cold tone. Hermione flinched. "Were you able to retrieve it?"

"I don't know—"

"Just tell me what happened!"

"I can't, Riddle, I—"

"Where did you go?"

"Other than arriving here this morning, I did not travel anywhere."

He pulled her forward, so close she could feel his breath when he spoke. "Did you once again fail to save my mother?"

That was it; she couldn't handle not knowing so much. With all her strength, she pushed him away from her and stood up, taking her wand out and holding it tightly. "Tell me what happened when I was here before," she demanded. "I need to know everything I have told you."

Once more, his eyes flashed crimson as he calmly stood, barely glancing at her wand, and not moving to retrieve his. "You really have no idea?" he replied with venom. "You don't remember a single word you spoke to me, or even a glimmer of what has happened between us?"

"No, I do not. Is it not obvious? I am absolutely clueless as to whom you truly are, or how you came into my life, other than meeting right here, right _now_."

"That's the thing, Hermione; it isn't only _now_ that we've met. Merlin, did you actually travel through time again?"

Her mouth opened to respond, but all that came out was random noises as her brow creased together and her mind tried to figure a way out of this. They had planned this for months, every moment, and breath engrained in her memory. Her first and only arrival should have been the very first day of this school year. Not only was she unprepared, but the presence of the future Dark Lord was over-whelming. Hermione needed to strategize, plan a new course of action. First, however, she needed to know what had already occurred.

Making sure her wand was still held tightly, she took a few more steps toward Tom Riddle. "What did I tell you before, Tom Riddle? I must know. It is of vital importance. I am already breaking too many laws to count, and would like to know how many more I might as well add to the list."

"When we met, at 16 years old, you told me that you were in fact a time traveler, from my future, coming to warn me of a terrible war. That only I could prevent. Other than basic details, you never divulged much more." He scowled as he spoke the last sentence, obviously disappointed at having never convinced her to tell him all the information.

Things could not possibly get much worse. It seemed that she had already, or would, go back in time to befriend Tom Riddle. Dumbledore had been wrong, the way things happened were very, truly different. But they had been _her very own_memories Dumbledore collected. His plans had gone farther back, she realized when he told her how he acquired them. Her old Headmaster had been working to rid the world of Lord Voldemort long before he had even become more than Tom Riddle.

"Now, unless you put down your wand, my little lion cub, I will take it as a threat against my life and do whatever is in my power to stop you," his voice brought her from her reverie. Tom held his wand loosely, as if she were no challenge to him. Of course, how was he supposed to know that she had fought him and his army only a day ago?

She thought quickly as she lowered her wand and let it fall to the floor. It would not do her well to test him. Tom took one step and retrieved it, only to place it in her inner robe pocket in one swift motion. She was surprised, though she didn't show it, that he did not carry a rancid odor reminiscent of death and blood. The snake-like wizard she knew to be was akin to the Muggle biblical Pale Horseman named Death. It was off-putting to inhale the rather attractive scent of myrrh. Unmoving, but locking eyes with Tom Riddle, she barely spoke above a whisper, "Did I, perhaps, leave anything with you in order to provide me with similar transportation?"

He opened his mouth, looked away, and frowned, before nodding swiftly. He silently went to his dorm room, re-entering the common room with a large, old tome. Tom glanced at it one last time, almost angry, and reached out to hand it to her.

Carefully, she took the book from him. Instantly, hidden locks clicked open. Hermione opened the cover to find a perfectly carved, Rosewood box. Inside was a letter folded neatly into a square, one glowing blue cylinder, and two vials of a very viscous yellow potion. The light emitting from the single cylinder was rather blinding, so she put it down and instead took the letter, setting the book absently on the coffee table. Hermione's instinct flared delightfully, sure that this was from her future self, knowing she would arrive at the incorrect time. Smiling inwardly, she unfolded the letter and sat on the armchair behind her.

A cough startled her just as she had settled in and she looked up to see Tom Riddle cock his eyebrow at her.

"Let me read the letter. I'm sure I left something as a 'reminder'," she told him with a wink. He sighed and took a place across from her, glancing into the box.

"I tried so hard to open that," said the young man, turning his head to the side, eyes still set on the light. "I didn't think you would just cast a simple charm like that."

"Only opens to my touch," she nodded, leaning forward slightly to take in the future Dark Lord. The one, who only hours ago, had done something eerily similar to the feeling that vial gave her. Same blue light, same unimaginable blue haze compressed as a liquid. It had given her the shivers.

"Yes," he replied, raising his voice. "But so very simple. I was expecting some great wards above that, though. It took me two days to even touch it with my bare hands." He chuckled lightly at this, a strange flash passing through his eyes. Not crimson in nature, but golden. This stunned Hermione briefly, but she didn't want to give him any reason to think she was not the same girl he knew. She would be, yes.

Looking back down at the letter, she frowned at her own handwriting. For, it truly was hers, but her points had never been so sharp, it was always loose. It was neat as ever, but this small change had her curious.

"_Hello to... well, me._

_Hope the first journey wasn't too hard on you. I remember thinking my body would never stop aching. Don't bother with Pepper-Up, as planned. Rather, find some chocolate. I've found that the magic used in the potion only needs pleasant thoughts, like a Patronus. Quite strange, I think, which led me to some startling conclusions. Don't worry, you'll get there. I would know._

_What I have to ask is of grave importance. When you arrive, I will have been gone about six weeks. No doubt, you have spoken to Dumbledore, and he is well aware that things are about to get a bit confusing. I cannot tell you what I am doing, intellectual paradox, you can only first learn any piece of information once._

_Though, what I am proposing is for you to achieve what I did not. It did not work. You should understand what this means. When I received this box, it only contained the blue cylinder, and a single vial of the yellow potion. Now, however, I know things are not as they seem. _

_Time is very unhappy with us, Hermione. You-Know-Who did not take into account the harm he would cause by not letting things come to pass. We were meant to be in this time, meant to live those memories which were taken from another version of us. By not following the proper order, we have broken the time-line._

_As you have already deduced, the blue cylinder is a contained version of Dumbledore's time-travel spell. The yellow you will find in the 1654 Teacher's Edition of Advanced Arithmantic Potion Making. I urge you to seek this book out immediately, as well as the following:_

_History Of Hogwarts: Blood War, Unabridged, 32__nd__ Edition_

_Time and the Traveler, First Edition_

_Phoenix of the Ages, 4__th__ Edition_

_Witches of Power, 2__nd__Edition_

_I also encourage you to find books you have already completed, and compare. You will have obviously noticed the lack of author's names, Time and the Traveler will explain this._

_The book I have included is a journal. I implore you to read it in chronological order, because it will help you plan your day to day movement until your next departure. You will make this journal as well, during your travels. It would do well to keep it; things will have started becoming muddled already. This is the only account I have been able to keep, and it will not be necessary to create your own. It is tied to neither a time nor location. It merely exists without pretense. You will understand how this is possible once you've read my work._

_One last thing, remember love, life, and peace. Keep hope, in yourself, your mission. Know that by merely receiving this box and its contents, you have attained a small victory. You-Know-Who thinks he's won by sending you here, remember that he has not. We have the power to change the world, and we bloody will._

_You,_  
><em>Hermione J. Granger<em>"

Heart pounding wildly and tears threatening to spill, Hermione refolded the parchment and set it back in the box before collapsing backwards in her chair. At that moment, she realized the magnitude of her mission had been multiplied tenfold. She glanced over at Tom, who quirked an eyebrow, and groaned.

In that moment, she very much wanted to stomp down to the private quarters of Albus Dumbledore, and make sure he would spend the next 40 years fearing the name Hermione Granger. 

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Hello! Sorry for the long wait. I needed to find a new beta, because my volunteer ran off on me, never to speak again. I hope she's okay.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave me a review, let me know what you think of it.  
>-Lee<p> 


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